The Catalyst
by Twindyl
Summary: Aspiring writer, a spinet from my work that's very much sci-fi inspired!


**Prologue.**

In the world of Neon, find the Darkness.

Those words woke me up. They burnt into my mind. This had happened a lot recently, every night a new sentence seemed to stick in my head enough that they woke me up. I tried to drink to get rid of it, I tried substances to knock me out but they still came through. Persistently too, it was like my brain had an itch, had I gone insane? Was there something wrong with me? I barely even knew what some of them meant. Balance is held by the unknown. The Catalyst is ready. Time doesn't tick for you. The Darkness is hidden in the Neon. None of it made any sense but they played on my mind over and over, I saw them whenever I closed my eyes even if it was to blink, there was no peace in my world with whatever plagued my rest. When did this start? Had it been like this since we came up here? Since we joined the rest of the species in the stars? Or was this a carry over from fighting in the body war, I could barely remember the time before we came to space. The world use to be different before the war, night time jobs were considered unsocial, now the world was never asleep. It was always awake, always alive. Bright and ready for whatever it had to cook up for humanity on that day, maybe our ascension into the stars was a mistake. It felt like a mistake to me, especially given I was one of the many of the human race, along with the other races who still had to work nine to five in order to live, we had next to no sway in the world and all we did was wake up, work, sleep and then die. Numbers in a code, cogs in the machine. We was nothing. Even if most of us knew this fact, that all we did in our lives was work until we died, we still did it. Even now, knowing all of this, I'm walking to my work. Do we like to be meaningless? Or did we lose the chance a long time ago. The state of the gap between the rich and the poor put me into its perspective, I was easily an example of the systems messed up way of live. I was a stark contrast to the tall buildings and skyscrapers, the hover taxi's and car's floating about, the music from the clubs that never seem to close, me? I was just a man walking to his job, hood pulled up and eyes bloodshot from disturbed sleep and working during the night to never see a slither of sunlight. My clothes worn and washed away from lack of money to afford new ones, the only thing I allowed myself to afford was cheap cigarettes that will no doubt shorten the already wasted life I live. Was there going to be a way out? It didn't seem like it.

The rich remained up high in the skyscrapers, untouched and unable to see the rest of society. They couldn't have us ruin their view now, could they? If they could see us, I think we'd ruin their parties, or the reason they had to turn to drink and drugs more frequently, their world would remain perfect as long as their substance addled glasses didn't fall off. Historian's of the human race stated that before the war, our city's were quiet at night. Could you imagine it? I remember it, a world where it's quiet. Now the city is always alive, bright colours and music are it's lifeblood. No one is out of the Neon spotlight, it shadows over everyone, there's no escape from the world we live in you just have to try and keep your head down enough that people don't notice you as much, but too much of staying in the background and people do notice. Someone.. Or something was always watching you, no matter how much you wanted to remain hidden. Even when the sun set, the artificial one was in the sky giving off the impression that it was still daytime, people couldn't spend money if they was sleeping and what's more important than that? The only place that you could deem silent on Achomia was the market, during the sixth hour of the fake sun it was silent, thankfully that was the time I went to work in the factory. All of the screens that rambled on noisily about what was the latest fashion trend or the newest item on sale that you just must have! Those screens normally shut off at a specific hour for maintenance, when they were on it was a load of mindless, inane colours and shouting that was meant to make us think we needed something we didn't have. Each screen was a lightbulb to draw the flies in and trap them there forever, it was the call to the mindless and those who can't think for themselves. This world made me sick.

Rounding the corner to the final street between me and the nine to five dream crusher made my morning always go slow, it was like I was trying to prolong it so I didn't have to suffer for long. My mother always said I was made for something better than this, but here I am, working a night shift in a factory for machine parts that people buy like it's air they need to breathe. The screens were all on for once, they never normally were. An alarm went off somewhere, it was so loud I dropped to my knees in an attempt to rid my hearing of the ear-bursting sound, I felt like my ears were bleeding. Something was lighting up where I was, was the world already at another war that none of us had seen coming? The last one had ruined my entire race. It took a lot of effort to force myself to stand up and try to find the source of the light to make my way to the best point of shelter, only the light was coming from all of the screens around me, they was completely black. One word was on the screens, every single screen had the same word on it.

**Chapter one.**

Annoying, no. Frustrating? No. Irritating, for sure. That was the word that best suited the damned thermal cover that I have over me in this weather, despite it being heavy and supposedly noise cancelling I could still hear the rain tapping on it noisily like a salesman at my door desperate to come in and take my credits for whatever bollocks piece of crap he was being commissioned to sell that day, I don't know how the constant tapping hasn't sent me to the asylum. It was like having one of those old ticking back to salesmen with their basic wage jobs, nine to five jobs seem utterly and thoroughly boring. I can't understand why people do them. Maybe most don't have a choice? Not everyone gets the chance to be raised like me, but being raised as a weapon never is a choice, it's more of a forced way of life you have to make the best of else you'll drive yourself into one of three states; a mental breakdown by the age of thirty where you end up in a maximum security prison because despite being a utter fuck up mentally, you're still a trained killer. Two, completely unable to even process what you've done for the past thirteen years and end up a hermit for the remainder of your life who donates everything in their possession to the families of the men and woman you've killed, or three, a machine for your employers use, devoid of everything that makes you human. You end up just a weapon. I guess I'm real fortunate that I managed to have a life, midst this "full time" employment. I was growing stiff under this cover, my body needed to move, to be freed from it's restricted shelter but I was cursed to remain here until my target popped his head up from whatever hellhole he was in, which currently seemed to be a brothel, though one can never be too sure on foreign planets.

There's only so much you can ponder on before you regress to your own childhood when you're stuck doing nothing but staring down the sights of your very fancy rifle with annoying consistent tapping. I always tried to push away memories from my childhood or block them out completely whenever I was stuck in situations like this where it was arguably nigh on impossible not to drift into my own mind and let me just tell you, that's a dangerous place to be, it gives even me the shivers. I'd already etched my name into the metal stock of the rifle, done a shopping list for next week, sang through about sixty songs in my head and decided that my nail paint needed a lot of work due to them currently being chipped and worn down, though now I'm left wondering if maybe I should just get a new colour put on, black never suited me, but I guess that's the price you have to pay when you need to look the part. Balls and parties never were my thing, but the alcohol and substances that floated around them was heavenly, perks of the job. Should paint them red? Maybe. Was this cover getting heavier? No, no I'm just tiny, numb and very cold, which is very odd given that I'm under a thermal cover, aren't they supposed to keep my heat in and the cold out? I probably picked up a faulty one, there must have been a hole somewhere that was letting in the cold air and the rain, that's the only logical explanation, right? At least the scope was giving me an interesting view of the life below me, through my enhanced eye I could see the people scurrying to get out of the rain, hurrying on their day as the rain pelted them with it's tiny aggressive droplets. A few people stood out in the rain boldly, defying it's wishes to force everyone inside, a couple was in the alleyway trying to eat each others faces, or so it seemed. Oh, wait no that was them making out, affection is a weird thing. Too much and you're clingy, not enough and you're withdrawn, even the supposed 'right' amount looks strange. Public affection is mostly frowned upon and if you keep it behind closed doors you're hiding your relationship as if you're afraid of something being said, or someone seeing you with your partner. Relationships don't work, marriages lead to divorces, children make couples unhappy and young love dies as quick as you blink your eye. In a perfect world, where people accept that they just need pleasure and that affection and love is something saved for your mother when you're young, not for adulthood.

Two men stood outside the assumed brothel building that I could only see as being bodyguards for my target, he must have been important enough if he had two bouncers, most of my targets only get one. Both of them wore identical outfits, odd dark brown robes with their hoods drawn up yet I could see some kind of tribal paint that traced from under their eyes down to their necks, bright blue, or maybe white. I can't tell at this distance. They had no weapons which was another thing I found off about the whole situation, you have two guards escorting you wearing dresses with no weapons, either this guy thinks he's untouchable or he really likes male companionship. Who are we to judge though, right? Down the road from the two hooded, questionable individuals was a pair of street rats. The thing I adore about street rats is no matter which foreign planet you go to, whichever new city you visit, they're always the same, starving, cunning children who will do just about anything for a couple credits and will never be believed as malicious intenders due to their age. These two where an odd bunch, one was your bog-standard human with messy blonde curls that would no doubt make him a very attractive suitor when he eventually grew up, yet the other was a green-skinned alien race that I wasn't all that familiar with, he spoke very good Galactic basic, however. He had eyes as wide as buttons and they was a bright yellow colour, no pupil that I could see. The pair of them was waiting by the end of the street with the idle agitation a child gets when they have to wait for a specific time to do something. I could see the human kid constantly checking the small and cracked pocket watch I had given him prior with very specific instructions on when to move. Big hand at two, small hand at six.

Just as the hand hit the rights time the two scoundrels darted up the street with their new quest, watching them scamper up the street brought back a lot of memories as I followed them with my lense, they ran right up to the men in the robes, the contrast between the tiny children and the men who's robes didn't hide how hench they was happened to be rather amusing. Whatever the children's plan was, it didn't work very well and they ended up chased off by the robed men, which all in all, makes my job just that tiny bit harder, but one doesn't cry over spilt milk do they? Thankfully I was still in prime position for the execution and I planned to do just that, the good thing about my rifle was that it was light and compact despite being long and having several different attachments that I had to constantly store on me when I was working a job like this, the bad thing about my rifle was that it required range and that meant that I needed this stupid cover in order to keep myself safe from being spotted and supposedly from the rain. The minutes passed slowly, or so it seemed but that always happened when I was this close, the world stopped for me and my rifle. I could feel every single second whilst I was laying here waiting for nothing, the men outside showed little sign of movement almost as if they would dig groves into the ground where they stood. After a moment a man came out of the front door, a hood over his head but it didn't hide his looks, which made me ponder if this was a scorned lover with how attractive he was. Eyes like sapphires that glanced curiously up and down the road, his hair that I could see was set in snow white dreadlocks that were pulled back against his scalp, I assume they was in a ponytail. My finger drifted along the rifle until it curled around the trigger and I couldn't help the pleased sigh that left my lips in response to finally getting to move even if it was an inch. Breathing with a rifle became natural many moons ago. My father's words still lingered in my ear each time I held it in my grip and stared down at my prey.

"You have to be apart of the weapon, girl, it's an extension of you, your core, your being. A rifle doesn't shoot with erratic breathing, calm your body, relax. This is your moment, your shot. You breathe out, you take the shot, you take the life."

To give my father his due, despite being a bastard to live with he couldn't have trained his girls better, one of us was a living weapon, the other was a bastion of power. The worlds worked weird in relation to power, you have the sensitive and the non-sensitive. I was in between both of the categories, not quite able to wield the power like my sister but occasionally it would somehow get sparked in me but it was nothing I ever contained really, I was a ticking time-bomb and no one could hear the ticking but me. My sister on the other hand, was a real nightmare to deal with. My aunt use to say that I was the bomb, and my sister, she was the aftermath. Only thing was she kept causing the aftermath over and over with a burning hate that never left her side, it was like her coat that she always wore, it clung to her back and haunted her every waking and sleeping hour and unlike me she never turned to any form of substance to help her cope with what we was made into, she had no way to quell her rage or silence her demons she was just stuck with them twenty-four seven, I pitied her some days, other days I just fear her.

When did he turn to stare at me? I couldn't exactly turn to see if anything was behind me with the weight of this thing on me, but I hadn't heard anyone approach and none of my alarms had gone off but he was looking right at me. How in the seven flaming levels of hell did he know I was up here? It's raining, it's pitch black, people don't look up. People can't see me. That's the whole damned point of this stupid cover. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Do or die, Nate. The recoil from the rifle almost sent me backwards, the sound threatened to pop my eardrums as the bullet soared through the sky towards him. As it flew down, I felt slow, everything stopped as I stared at him through the scope and he stared back at me without any hesitation. My breathing slowed as I waited, there will and always has been something interesting about watching people's final moments, watching them just peacefully fade into an endless sleep. There was something about his gaze, certainly you could get lost in it, I think I am? I'm not sure. How long have we even been looking at each other? I think I've aged.

Had I not pulled the trigger? I heard it fire. What the fuck? Are my hands numb? I could see my breath frosting in the air under the thermal cover, the cold shouldn't have got to me this bad. I couldn't move my hands, my fingers felt stiff. I was trying to pull the trigger but I couldn't, it was freezing. Why was I freezing? This cover kept the warmth in even with a hole, I shouldn't be this cold this quick suddenly. I think the bullet was coming back to me, I can see it turn back around and slowly realign its path towards me. Was he sensitive? That wasn't in the file. How he managed to spot me was beyond my comprehension, was he given a tip? Surely not, no one knew I was here. It was a low budget, easy cash job that I picked up an hour ago. He must have moved quicker than my eyes could adjust to or was he just that good with his power? There's a handful who don't need any build up or hand gestures to extend their power directly, they just think it and it seconds I'd broke whatever trick or spell he had on me and managed to the other side of the roof, I couldn't breathe. I felt panic and if anyone could hear my breathing it would sound like I was having a attack, I couldn't catch my breath and I was freezing, my body ft like it was encased with ice. What had he done to me? I'm wasting time here. Fires escapes where always risky when you wore boots as clunky and heavy as mine, but fashion was way more important than falling from a thirteen story building to your impending death, at least when you fall you'd still look drop dead gorgeous, get it?

Vertigo must be a real bugger in my line of work. Even I felt queasy looking down at the ground, sixty floors in this building. It made me feel even worse knowing I had to descend down the fire escape but it was better than having my own bullets thrown at me. He had to have some connection, if not the best connection known to man to have just randomly picked me out like that, yet no one else has been able to sense me, I was too weak in the power to be that easily noticed in a busy street. Sensitivity to the mystical magic was linked to your soul, people have speculated on it for years and no one really know it or why. We just make guesses. It's a imbalance some people say, others say its colour of your soul. Most agree that it's mostly genetic, in my situation it was genetic. My father was pretty powerful and all his children held the power too, I was reactive, my emotions controlled my power. My sister was in control not that you could ever tell by watching her train, work or fight. She was controlled chaos, that was the best way to describe it. Our brother was the middle of us power wise, skill wise he was awful at simple things and he knew it. He hates both of us for our father's very very slim favouritism, but his punishment for failing was always drastic, parts of him has been replaced with implants from a young age and he blamed us for it. Hardly my fault he was a waste of space, my sister in her innocence always tried to help him but he spat that back in her face and she still to this day felt bad for everything that happened to him. I was shocked he lasted so long in the world with how god-awful he was and his arrogance. Don't get me wrong, arrogance is fine if you can back it up. Don't go to a knife fight if you don't have a grenade in your pocket in my opinion.

The alleyway I landed in as silent which is always a good sign. Though it was still, like life had all but left. The hairs on the back of my neck started to raise, I couldn't tell what it was but something was very wrong. My backpack was missing, I left it on the handle of the door at the back so it wouldn't get wet. I couldn't really walk out with a advanced rifle on my back, they took my coat too, bastards. I was already soaked through from the rain though in honest the coat wouldn't have made a difference. I could feel my teeth starting to chatter noisily from how cold I still was, the air felt unnatural and my instincts told me to find another way out but then my stubbornness told me that nothing would make me change my ways and thus I decided to move out. Taking apart a rifle was difficult even when you had a bag, but trying to put it down enough so you can slip some of it into your belt and pockets was nigh on impossible.

It took me long enough but I could walk onto the street with the rifle mostly dismantled and its parts dotted across my pockets and belt this was after a couple long minutes of struggling. It was still obvious what it was on my back but it didn't have enough of its parts attached to get me accused of it from that distance. The only sound I could hear was the sound of my own heavy boots on the wet floor as I left the dark and slightly eerie alleyway. The street was off, in the darkness of the day I couldn't tell you what was wrong with it until I got onto the pavement. Everything had stopped. People stood completely still, frozen in whatever action they was taking. Even the rain was stuck in the air like someone had pinned it to a cork board, children stuck rushing on the spot going nowhere fast.

"Took you long enough."

The voice was rough but smooth. My attention was forcefully snapped to the hooded figured I had just previously tried to kill. At this closeness, even with his robe on I could tell his figure through it. He was broad and lean, his body had been worked on and maintained every day. He honed his figure and I was happy to admire the brief parts of it I could make out from the robes concealing fabric. His eyes sparkled like blue stars in the nights sky and his hair was as white as fresh fallen snow. A defined jaw and a small unkempt stubble on it, any other situation I'd be trying to share a bottle with him. Instead I stood opposite a man who had somehow frozen the entire street I was on except me and his guards. They stood holding plasma-saberstaffs they were ual ended ones the bright orange glow lit up the darkness of the street and the plasma blade evaporated the still drops of rain as they moved to his side. Dead and hollow eyes stared into my core from the angry and mute guards, they were tense and ready enough to react to anything I did but they remained behind him like obedient dogs at their masters heel.

"Come here. They won't hurt you, not unless I tell them too and I won't because you're going to be good for me, aren't you?"

The words were smooth, sleazy and smooth. They felt wrong coming from his lips. The whole attitude seemed wrong. My feet slowly moved me over, I could feel the rain dripping off my body onto the floor in cold little drops. The coldness is the bit that bothers me. It's unnatural. I'm frozen through and through yet this planet is known for its consistent temperature. The cold you experienced on here wasn't cold, it was less warm than natural but after acclimating to the seasons after a year of living here, it becomes a natural cold. To be so cold my breath frosts in the air and the rain cuts through to my bones, that was something else. No amount of magic could change that, right? The closer I got the more attractive he became and whatever threat he held towards me didn't stop me for eyeing him up. The curve in his lips informed me that he knew he was good looking and he was being admired for such, another thing that felt wrong from him. His eyes held truth but his attitude and mannerisms didn't. Something was wrong. It took a lot to force myself to work given I was in eye candy heaven. There was a device on his wrist but that's a dumb place to keep anything altering you. Its obvious and people clock it too soon, unless that was the idea? Everything seemed so.. normal about him. No. There is it. A glamour. Not a lot of naked eyes can see the brief shimmer when the glamour resets itself but I've designed and tested enough to have inside knowledge. So this was an imposter. Drat, there goes true love at first sight.

His hand moved to my lips to brush his fingertips over them. My hand moved to a dagger then his thigh, even the scream was frozen in the air. When you disrupt a glamour there's a backlash, not the kind that means it explodes or anything, but the person using it ends up in a locked trance of something, this of course varies on person to person and glamour to glamour, you'd be surprised that its rare knowledge. For some reason the people who test them keep that little juicy nugget of information locked away. His men barely reacted quick enough only to be met with their own daggers to their wrists, I didn't have time to gift wrap unfortunately. Whatever spell broke and the street burst back into life, whilst the suffering imposter remained frozen, I did not. Without a pinch of doubt or hesitation I snatched the bracelet on his wrist and started running. In such a heavy rain as this planet was enduring people don't pay attention to if you're running from something, it only matters if you affect them getting home. I was use to weaving through crowds so I managed to interrupt as few as many people. During the summer this place was beautiful, in the winter the rain made tourists hesitant to come here and see it. The market was always lively any time of year, people selling food and wares from all over to encourage folk to still turn up and it worked for some reason. Though that was potentially because it was the biggest market place on the solar system, I could without a doubt easily waste my credits here and not think twice until I got back to the cruiser.

My path was shifted when something to my left exploded, I flew straight across the air and into a cab that had been stopped for the traffic. My body sparked with agony and I could hear the woman inside screaming about me. I struggled to remain conscious, I struggled to get up from the Nate shaped dent in the cab. My side had been pierced, my arm was definitely broken and my head felt like it was bleeding heavily. Out of all the things to die to, mine is an explosion I didn't even cause? What an end to a life.

"Find her!"

That voice again, it fueled me to move and with as much protesting as my body could manage I slipped from the cab and got back onto the street. I could barely breathe, a lung must have collapsed or been crushed when I hit the cab, potential cracked ribs. I must have been such a pretty picture. Whilst assessing my state I managed to keep my head down and hobble into a club nearby, the doorman stared at me in horror and I didn't have time to make the place out other than it seemed safe.

"Lock the fucking door."

It was all I could do to ensure I didn't get a bullet in my back, the vacant expression I received from the doorman told me he hadn't quite processed me yet. I mistakenly gritted my teeth which only made me wince and made my mouth taste of iron.

"Are you deaf? Lock the damned door. Don't make me repeat myself a third fucking time, asshat."

He finally snapped to attention and the door was locked, a wave of relief hit me and I managed to drag myself to the bar top where most of the people were, it was far too empty to be a public place, it must have been some type of club, male only too by the looks of things through my one not swollen or covered in blood eye. The counter felt smooth, marble, not like the rough, scratched and stained wooden worktop you get in normal places. Fancy. I heard someone approach behind me but I didn't really have the time. "What are you looking at? Close your damned jaw and get me some medi-."

"Hey. What happened, dove? Are you alright?"

It was that damned voice again that cut me off, the man in front looked at him expectantly, with a lingering sense of fear and utmost respect. So he was in charge here. If I turn around I'm dead, if I stay put I'm also dead, my body was flagging and my adrenaline was fading, my stubbornness would only keep me awake for a minute after it all went. Choices, choices. Seconds passed and I could feel my options running away quicker than I cared to admit. Unwillingly I turned to face him, with my wounds I couldn't quite make out his face anymore but I could see his hair, it seemed brighter than before. His hands found my flesh without a word and he pulled the rifle from my back that was no doubt responsible for my ribs being cracked. My hand reached after it and he let me hold onto it as he guided me to a booth at the back, a private one. Like a child being bribed by their mother to come with them. I felt safe, he felt warm. I didn't like it. He eased me down slowly and asked me something, I think he did at least, his lips moved but they looked too good doing it and in my state I just gawked up at him like a lost lamb as he loomed over me. His hand brushed my hair back, despite it being matted with blood he acted as though it was freshly washed and we was old friends resparking a flame. I didn't realise he was fixing me until his hand settled on my chest and I felt the warmth there. Was I being looked after by my mark? This is a strange world we live in. Blackness creeped over my gaze, crawling in from the sides defiant to my rapid blinking to try and rid it. I watched him until it covered my gaze, it was like watching clouds block out my sun.

My eyes snapped open in a knee-jerk reaction to falling unconscious, a perk of my job. I wasn't dead? No wait, I think I am. I can see the stars, this can't be heaven. I would never make it there. Hell wouldn't give me a nice view surely? I don't think the devil likes me that much, despite how many souls I've taken. No purgatory. Of course it is. Slowly I gathered more of my surroundings and realised I was laid on a bed, it had to be the best bed I'd laid on in my entire life. There was several pillows under me and two thin blankets over me and a view of the stars. I let my eyes shut and my hand move up under the pillow to rest against the coldness of the other side, slowly I turned and my body still ached, my back felt like it had been whipped for hours straight. I shouldn't hurt in purgatory, right?

"Nice rifle. Once you put it all together from the pieces you'd removed, of course. And cleaned it from your blood. Must get a good distance, the scope is excellent too. _Nate._"

Is it possible to be haunted by a voice? Hindsight, never etch your name into a rifle. I wasn't dead at least. My name sounds good coming from his mouth, unwillingly my eyes opened to try and see him saying it, alas I was too late. He sat in a chair against a white wall, my rifle in his lap, fully set up and loaded. On a plus side he was shirtless and I finally got a look at the real thing instead of a robed illusion, and boy, was it something you could stare at all day long. I could see the traces of some tattoo on his hip but I couldn't fully make it out. His hair wasn't held up like previously, his dreads sat down by his shoulders, his blue eyes stared at me as if making a point - which he definitely was. This would be fun.


End file.
